


I'll Be the Judge of That

by jennandblitz



Series: Black Glitter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Sirius, Brown eyes or bust, Drag Queens, Drag!Sirius, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay!Remus, Hair-pulling, M/M, Makeup Kink (sort of), Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Top!Remus, lipstick kink, porn with a little plot because I can't not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandblitz/pseuds/jennandblitz
Summary: after a conversation in which we discussed our need for Drag!Sirius - who would rock a lip-sync - so I had to deliver! (also, the other queens are definitely based off of canon characters - props to anyone who guesses all three!)





	I'll Be the Judge of That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maraudererasmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maraudererasmut/gifts), [Purplechimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplechimera/gifts), [letsdothepanic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsdothepanic/gifts).



“Girl, you do not need that cheekbone contour!” Queenie says as she steps into the backstage area to see Sirius carving his face for the Gods of Drag.

Sirius laughs around the cigarette at the corner of his mouth, glad for the moment that James doesn’t enforce the no smoking rule in the dressing rooms, so long as they keep it away from the dresses. He goes back to add another layer of shading around the edges of his face. Not that he ever needed much makeup, his features were always a little too close to feminine in the wrong light, the fine arch of his eyebrows, the full curve of his bottom lip. He used to get called _pretty boy_ at school - _queer, fairy, poof_ \- but instead it just works in his favour nowadays. Of course he needs to narrow his jawline a little, curve the edges of his forehead into an elegant heart shape, and always, carve those damn cheekbones.

Queenie slides onto the stool next to Sirius and starts pinning her wig in place, wiggling her hips to the music bleeding in from the club.

“How is it out there?” Sirius asks, stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray before powdering everything in to place. The eye makeup is already on point with eyeliner for days, in wings so sharp they rivalled his cheekbones, grey and black shadow, glittering and throwing light into the smoke-grey of his irises. Sirius is practised at this, he’s done it enough that every feature is accentuated now, his already fine features played to perfection.

“Looks good, it’s fucking busy. James outdid himself with the publicity. Lily is loving the attention,” Queenie replies as she fusses with her wig.

Sirius chuckles around the powder puff and makes sure to get the contoured cleavage he’d painted on minutes earlier. “Of course she is.” He can just imagine Lily preening out by the bar, laughing prettily because The Golden Lion is the most successful LGBT club in Brighton - of which there are many, James loves to add - and they’re hosting an already wildly successful, definitely-not-copyrighted Drag Race for all the local queens.

After a pause, a moment to build his courage - which sounds stupid for someone like Sirius fucking Black, overflowing with enough courage to dance on stage in lingerie - Sirius sets down the powder puff and asks, “What about the judges, they here?”

Ginger springs into the dressing room in a sight that would be arresting if Sirius didn’t see it every day - corset half done up, face already beat but in the rattiest pair of jeans Sirius has ever seen. “Honey, the judges are here-” Sirius rolls his eyes and purses his lips to over-line them- “by _God_ they are here and looking fine!” Ginger leans against the door and fans herself with a free hand before shucking off her street clothes. “That Lupin? He is looking extra fine, let me tell you honey.”

Ginger’s twin Ruby - both in and out of drag - eases into the room behind her, dress half on. “Are you talking about Lupin?” She wolf-whistles and pulls on her shoes before seeing Sirius. “Sirius! We go on stage in like… five minutes, how are you not dressed, girl?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, he doesn’t have time to think about how fine Remus Lupin looks tonight. Remus Lupin, resident Brighton queer heartthrob, editor in chief of the local queer magazine and Sirius’ crush since he upended from Islington to Brighton a year ago and caught a glimpse of him through the crowd at his first night in this club. He has tried not think about the fact he’s one of the main judges here tonight - Lily and James were obviously too biased to judge their own competition as Sirius is their best friend. He’d even suggested to outsource the judges, but he didn’t bank on one of them being his long-time crush. He sets his lipstick down, lips overlined in perfect black pout, and pats a generous amount of glitter over the swell of his bottom lip. “I’m comin’, hold on girl, it won’t take me long. This body doesn’t need much accessorising.”

Queenie snorts. “Girl, you’d go out there naked if you could.”

“Mama already did,” Ginger shoots back, now in her dress, “remember that Britney Spears - Toxic routine?”

“I still don’t know how you managed to tuck that well.”

Sirius laughs, pulling on his undergarments and accosting Ruby to tighten the strings of his corset. He remembers that routine well, all rhinestones and an utter lack of privacy, shame or inhibition. It had been wonderful. “Family secret, Mama, sorry to disappoint.” He waves Ruby off once his corset is tight around his ribs. It’ll bruise by tomorrow but tonight he doesn’t care, he looks gorgeous and _knows it._

The dress is handmade by Marlene and Dorcas - they make half of the outfits for the local queens out the back of their haberdashery - and it’s beautiful, all black gossamer and lace, cut to accent his slender waist, short to show off his long legs. The heels are sky-high, patent black platforms that add at least six inches to his already 6ft frame. The crowning glory is the wig, an exaggeration of his own hair, black as pitch, silky and voluminous, down to his waist, drawing the eye down the low cut of the dress.

By the time Sirius is ready and striding out into the area off the wings of the stage, the rest of the queens have gathered and are giving out air kisses like free condoms at Pride. There’s around 10 of them, Sirius is acquainted with all of them but he only truly knows Queenie, Ginger and Red. The crowd noise flares from further in the club.

In that moment Sirius transforms from Sirius Black in biker boots and leather jackets into Sirius the Starlit Bitch, the lacy gowns and the come-hither stares, the pop of his hip, the internal part of him that loves the attention, loves the masquerade, the illusion of it all, knowing that he can reinvent himself over enough times that nothing else matters. He can shake it all off at the end of the day, take the makeup remover over every bit of it and it wipes away all of his past, every claim someone else has made to his skin, his body, his personality. His body is his own, his mind is his own, fuck everything else.

She’s here, standing with her hands on her hips and looking out at the crowd past cutting eyeliner. They’re cheering, Lily leading them from the side of the stage, and she can hear the shouts of _Bitch_ cutting through the rest of the names. She hears it and preens, reclaiming every bad word anyone has ever called her under the banner of Bitch.

She’s on stage first - they decided it by boy last names - and saunters out to riotous applause. She makes eye contact with every person on the front row, then silvery-grey eyes flicker up to the judges table to the side of the stage as Lily introduces her.

“Ladies and ladies, let’s hear it for our first girl of the night, she’s ready to run riot with your hearts, wallets and dicks-” the audience squeals in delight- “It’s Sirius - the Starlit Bitch!”

For a moment Sirius wonders if Remus looks interested, if he’s watching more avidly that he will do the other girls, whether he’s leaning forward to pay attention, whether he looks as good tonight as Ginger and Ruby say - he can’t see from the stage lights - but then the Bitch tells him to step aside. Nothing else matters but the stage and the music and the cheers of her adoring crowd.

Sirius sings two numbers. The first is a tribute to the first song she ever lip-synced on stage - _I Will Survive_ \- only this time sang live, her voice like silk, a classic tribute to all the queens of Brighton to come before her. Between songs she waits in the wings with Ruby and Ginger, topping off lipstick and pointing her toes to keep them from cramping in her shoes. Drag is an _art_ honey, and she has it down to a fine point.

Her second song is a personal favourite, and when the opening beats sound, the crowd goes wild. Queenie struts onto the stage beside her as she goes to the edge and squats down, legs splayed, to preen and smile and flip her hair.

She tosses her head back at the whoops of delight - James has probably abandoned his duty as bartender to climb on the bar himself and cheer from the back - as the chorus kicks in and her perfectly overdrawn pout mouths along. “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?”

She strides around, owning the stage, strutting as Queenie lip-syncs the rapping parts of the song so perfectly Sirius would’ve sworn it wasn’t lip-synced if she weren’t up there too. By the second chorus she’s climbed onto the judges table, fearless in her overt sexuality - she _knows_ she looks good, she knows most men would be on their knees for her, begging under her six-inch heels. The crowd is going wild, egging her on, and before she’s even thought it through properly she’s kneeling on the judges table before one Remus Lupin, renowned Brighton heartthrob and _Christ_ , Ginger was right.

Lupin is looking _fine_ , the sharp lines of his face thrown into relief by the stage lighting, the tight muscles along his biceps accented by the grey t-shirt that was tight in all the right places, loose in enough other places to tease a little. His hair is shining under the lights, a dirty middle somewhere between brown and blonde, curling into his eyes atop a sharp undercut.

She drapes herself over him, long legs splayed out along the judges table, baring her equally lacy and bejewelled knickers to the crowd. She runs black-tipped hands over the lush swells of her body, the perfect contours of just a little padding and the delightful cinch of the corset. Her hands slide down over the concave of her stomach, down towards her crotch, playing up to the crowd in all the filthiest ways she knows they love.

Sirius wonders for a moment if Remus is watching with want in his eyes, if he’s getting hard under the table staring at Sirius caressing his own body, if this’ll mean he wins the competition tonight.

She crawls along the table, acting up for the judges, and leans over to press a black glittered kiss to each of their cheeks. She pretends not to notice the way Remus’ breath hitches in his throat as her lips ghost over the swell of his cheek. She pretends not to notice how red his cheeks flush, the wry little smile quirking his lips, the way her lips look so good painted on his face.

The Bitch doesn’t pay attention to Lupin, only the dance, the beat, the crowd cheering. Then she jumps back off the table, landing flawlessly in those skyscraper heels, and strides forward for the ending line, sinking into a death drop at the edge of the stage to tumultuous applause.

She is breathing hard when she steps off-stage, sinking onto a battered little loveseat left there for just that reason. It’s strange to stay in drag after a performance, he’s usually itching to get out of the damn corset, but tonight they need to stay for a while to wait until the judging.

After a minute, James slips into the backstage area holding a vodka and lemonade for him. “Here, mate.”

Sirius smiles. James has never quite grasped the whole she-in-drag, he-out-of-drag thing, but it never particularly bothers him since James has known him for so long. So it makes sense that James sees Sirius still as the boy he went to school with, the one he watched discover eyeliner and lipstick and joke about being discovered raiding their mothers wardrobes. James wasn’t a queen, at least not physically - he had the attitude to give most a run for their money - but he supported Sirius nonetheless.

“Hey, how was it? What did you think?” He asks before taking a generous gulp of the drink.

James laughs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “The crowd went wild. You really amped it up on the judges too, they were really eating it up.”

Sirius blushes under the makeup and hits James across the thigh. “Oh, shut up.”

Just because James knew of his crush on Lupin didn’t mean he had to bring it up at every moment, even if Sirius did the same to James when he discovered the latter’s crush on Lily. “He saw you, mate. I’m telling you that, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and shoves past James to peer out of the wings onto the stage where Ginger and Ruby are currently throwing down a fantastic skit that’s half humour, half singing and all mildly worrisome sex appeal. Remus is laughing at the judges table, head thrown back and Sirius feels a flare of heat in the pit of his stomach. No, no, no, getting a boner whilst tucked is categorically his least favourite thing in the world. He swiftly looks away and thinks of something utterly unappealing, like his mother.

After a moment of watching the internal torment clearly play across his face, James laughs again and slaps him on the shoulder. “I gotta head back, see you after.”

“Alright, wish me luck Jamie.” Sirius grins as James ducks back out front and he leans against the wall to watch the culmination of the twins act.

Once they’re off-stage the music in the club comes back up to give the judges a moment to… well, judge. Sirius resolutely does not look at Remus Lupin, biting his lip, mid-discussion, leaning over to talk to a local radio host that Sirius doesn’t care to remember. Remus is the only judge he has to impress and he wonders if the other man has wiped Sirius’ lipstick from his cheek yet.

It doesn’t take long, not in the grand scheme of things, whilst he’s laughing and joking backstage with his sisters, and Lily pokes her head through the side stairwell to call them all back on stage. Pausing at the mirror, Sirius reapplies his lipstick and taps some more glitter onto the tacky surface before it dries before following his drag family up the stairs.

On stage, the judges are stood in the middle now, next to Lily, who is holding a sash proclaiming them the winner of the Golden Lion Drag Race. Remus is holding an obscenely large bouquet of flowers and Sirius grins at how wonderful he looks.

Lily gives her show-woman spiel, riling up the crowd like only she knows how as all of the queens stand hand in hand waiting for the judges decision. Sirius squeezes Ginger’s hand on one side and Queenie’s hand on the other. His heart is in his throat. He doesn’t care about the prize money - if he wins he’s going to donate it all to the local LGBT teens charity anyway - but he cares about the recognition. He’s still young on the circuit, and to get his name mentioned like this would do wonders for his career. Not to mention the fact that Remus fucking Lupin is the judge and the whole competition gave him a reason to splay himself onto Remus’ lap under the guise of performance.

“Alright, everyone,” Lily calls out. The crowd riots. “The winner of the first annual Golden Lion Drag Race is -” the crowd falls silent in anticipation- “Sirius! The Starlit Bitch!”

Sirius strides forward, feeling a wave of admiration, of gratitude, of _pride_ that he has done this, something all for himself without any of the trappings of Islington around him anymore. The Bitch comes forward too, all self-assured and glittering in her smile as she accepts the sash from Lily and a real kiss on the cheek - she’s the only one he lets get away with not air-kisses in drag! - and turns to see Remus stepping forward to hand her the bouquet.

Remus sets a hand on her waist and they turn towards the stage to pose for photographs to the soundtrack of cheering applause. Remus is smiling at him, he only has to look up an inch or two to look right in Sirius’ eyes, and they’re even more wonderful up close, a warm, deep brown like rich soil after the rain. Sirius shudders.

As they pause for the cameras, Sirius leans down to brush his lips against Remus’ ear, the Bitch flooding forward in a rush of confidence. His voice is breathy, overflowing with flirtatious innuendo. “What do I get as my prize, Mr. Lupin?”

  


* * *

  


They’re kissing in the backstage corridor, Sirius still in drag, arms looped around Remus’ neck as the other man presses him into the wall and smears his lipstick to oblivion. Remus nudges a knee between his thighs, the denim of his jeans scraping deliciously over his fishnets. Sirius is panting hard under Remus’ hands, stroking over his sides, down the outside of his thighs, but it’s not enough. He’s wound tight under the corset and the rest of his undergarments, and right now he needs _skin._ Remus feels wonderfully toned through his distressed jeans and heather grey t-shirt, but it’s not enough, he needs _skin_ , he needs to get off, he needs to feel the culmination of a year of pining, a year of crushing on the seemingly unattainable.

He’s squirming with desire as Remus mouths along the knife-edge of his jaw, gasping into mouthfuls of brown-blonde curls, raking his fake nails across the broad swaths of Remus’ shoulder blades. Remus slides his knee up further, instinctively slotting their bodies together in the search for friction as he bites down around the pale flesh of Sirius’ neck. Sirius bites the inside of his mouth against the rush of blood southward. He needs to get out of drag, he needs to get his dick out of the fucking contortion act it’s currently in because Remus is pressing against him and making all sorts of wonderful throaty noises that are sure to end in disaster.

Remus quirks an eyebrow as Sirius peels him away, pressing back on his shoulders. He looks utterly debauched smeared in black glitter. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to get out of drag,” Sirius pants, mind still whirling. He can hardly remember how they got here, just remembers the slow smirk that spread across Remus’ lips in response to his breathy question. It turns out Remus had seen him a few times at the club before and felt much the same way Sirius did. God, he wonders whether he should’ve stomped over to Remus _months_ ago, the Bitch brimming with confidence and just sat herself across his lap. He wonders for a moment if Remus likes Sirius or the Bitch, if he’ll be disappointed by Sirius in a leather jacket, ripped jeans and biker boots, whether he’s here for the lacy dresses or the makeup-less face. Guess he’ll have to find out. Remus steps back to give Sirius some space, who raises a hand to his lips to try and wipe off some of the lipstick.

“Alright,” Remus breaths, looking a little disappointed as Sirius swipes away the majority of the lipstick over his mouth, his chin, his cheeks, a streak across his jaw - fuck it's everywhere.

“I don’t kai kai, you know,” Sirius retorts, watching his face, his free hand still holding onto Remus’ shoulder. It’s half a test, Remus should know what he means by that, should know that he won’t fuck in drag, and if that’s what they’re intending - God, he fucking hopes - then he needs to get to the dressing room.

Remus nods, a smirk blooming across his face that makes him look wolfish in the low light. He slides the pad of his thumb over Sirius’ jawline, down the tender flesh of his neck. “That’s alright. I know you’re pretty out of drag too.”

Sirius grins at that, stepping away from the wall and squeezing Remus’ shoulder. “You, stay right there. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Remus chuckles and nods, wiping a hand over his mouth to try and wipe away some of Sirius’ makeup. He looks wonderful, leaning casually against the wall just outside of the dressing room, shoulders still rising and falling, breathing heavy from Sirius’ kisses.

Sirius takes a lingering look at the sight of him before slipping into the dressing room. He is immediately greeted with a grinning Ginger. “Oh piss off,” Sirius calls, nudging past to slip out of his shoes and pull his dress off, moving as quickly as he can.

Ginger grins. “Don’t act like everyone saw you and Lupin necking, girl.”

Sirius flips her the bird and tugs off his wig, storing it as carefully as he can in his hurried state. “Yeah, well now I am getting the hell out of this tuck so we can go and fuck so stop hassling me, Ginger.” He grins through the makeup wipe he rubs over his face after peeling off his eyelashes and setting them aside.

Ginger whistles and takes her time shedding her persona. “Alright, alright. Go on then, get gone.”

Sirius grins wider, unlacing his corset and breathing a sigh of relief at the sudden rush of air into his lungs. It’s bruising already, red marks along his ribs but it was worth it. Sirius sheds the rest of his drag, finally untucking and breathing a sigh of relief at the redistribution of blood around his body. He’s immediately half-hard, and probably will be until he gets somewhere private with Remus. He hurriedly tugs on a pair of faded black jeans, a baggy white t-shirt. His boots and leather jacket come next and he shucks a hand through his hair to release it from the pins. He steps back into the corridor, wiping another makeup wipe over his neck to get the last dregs of it, bag of drag in one hand, to see Remus waiting with his hands in his pockets.

Sirius purses his lips and spreads his hands out wide. “Not in the corset anymore-” and the rest of the words hang in the air - _still interested?_

Remus crosses over and leans down to kiss Sirius hard on the mouth. It’s an odd adjustment out of his heels now, but he’s only an inch or two shorter than Remus, and easily kisses back. Okay, Remus is still interested then. Sirius gasps as Remus mouths along his jaw again. “Let’s get out of here, please.”

Remus grins, sharp and molten, and wraps a careful arm around Sirius’ waist. “My place is the next street over.” Then Sirius blinks and Remus is leading them out the back entrance of the club, his arm still around Sirius’ waist, his mouth still at the soft spot under Sirius’ ear.

“You liked my song?” Sirius breaths, an arm around Remus’ hips, trying to stumble his way down the street whilst devouring every bit of Remus he could.

Remus chuckles and tugs Sirius’ earlobe, back in his street earrings, just simple studs, between his teeth. “ _Liked it?_ You looked fucking stunning, laid out on that fucking table like that, prancing around in those fucking heels.”

Sirius shivers at the scrape of his teeth and leans into the sturdiness of him. “I have them in my bag you know.”

“Thought you didn’t kai kai?” Remus bites softly on the shell of his ear, soothing it with the heat of his tongue.

“I don’t-” Sirius moans through the words, arm tight around Remus’ hips as they turn down a side-street and stumble into the first doorway there. “I can make an exception, if you like. The shoes, the lipstick-” Remus moans back at that, leaning in to slide his tongue over Sirius’ pink bottom lip. Sirius laughs as Remus reaches past him to unlock the door and tug them both inside.

Then they’re in the flat and Remus is pressing him against the wall of the hallway. Sirius is gone, he doesn’t even know how they navigated the stairs, just lost in the heady glow of victory, both at the show and in the moment where his lips met Remus’. Remus feels sturdy against him, cool and soothing against the residual heat of the stage lights but his mouth is _so_ warm. Sirius hooks a leg around his to bring their bodies closer together, Remus’ hands ranging over the lengths of his body.  When Remus pulls away from his mouth, an all-together embarrassing whine slides out of Sirius’ lips, his body automatically stuttering forward in search of contact and friction.

Remus chuckles and pulls Sirius further into the flat by the hands. He leans in once his back hits the dining table and kisses Sirius again before pulling back. “You are stunning, you know that?”

Sirius laughs and presses his hands against Remus’ chest, all the long lines of him under that charcoal t-shirt. “Thank you. Me and the Bitch?”

Remus laughs and leans forward to kiss Sirius’ collarbone, exposed by his shirt now they’ve shifted. He scrapes his teeth over the same spot. “Yes, both of you. Although-” he raises his voice slightly over a moan that slips from Sirius’ lips, hands now clutching at his shoulders because Remus has discovered his penchant for biting. “I’m glad I have _this_ Sirius to take to bed, I wonder if he’ll indulge me with the lipstick? I sadly had to wipe the last lot off.”

Sirius manages a laugh through the shuddering force of desire wracking through him, pressing into Remus in a desperate reach for friction where he needs it most. “I hope all your dirty talk is this grammatically correct.” He’s rewarded with another soft chuckle from Remus and a bite to the soft juncture of his shoulder, then remembers he ought to answer. “Yes, let me put it back on…”

Remus steps back after a moment, a hand lingering on Sirius’ waist, and nods. Sirius sets his bag on the dining table, digging in it for his black lipstick - never too far from his hand - and is besieged by a wicked idea. He glances over to see Remus at the sound system in the corner, tapping on his phone to put something on, and crawls onto the table, kicking off his boots on the way.

When Remus turns back Sirius is sprawled on the table just like he was at the judges table only an hour earlier, sinful smile on his face, the Bitch just simmering under the surface.

“Fuck-” Remus’ jaw goes slack for a moment before a slow grin spreads over his face and he stalks back over to the table.

Sirius smiles, posing a little more, canting his hips forward, letting his legs fall open in anticipation. He gestures with the compact mirror and lipstick tube in one hand. “Shall I?”

Remus chuckles, his fingers sliding around Sirius’ bare ankle, and tugs him towards the edge of the table. “Be my guest.” Remus watches with eyes like molten chocolate as Sirius carefully lines the outer edges of his lips, then fills in the colour. He doesn’t take his eyes off Sirius, just leaning forward to push up his t-shirt and expose his stomach to hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Sirius chuckles and pauses. “You’ll make me slip.”

Remus practically crawls onto the table next to him to ruck his shirt up further. “Won’t it be messy in a second anyway?” He says a moment before he mouths over the bruising lines of the corset at Sirius’ ribs. Sirius lets out a shaky breath and caps his lipstick, pressing his lips together and smiling prettily. “Beautiful.” Remus tugs him up by the upper arms and seizes the hem of his shirt to pull it off in one swift motion. He grins as Sirius shakes his hair out, feeling the lipstick already smudged to the side. “Even better now.”

Sirius laughs, leaning up to kiss Remus hard on the mouth, hands lodging in his hair and holding him close. He’s all for playing games, but now Remus is on top of him, the wood of the dining table against his back, Remus’ mouth against his and his cock pressing against Sirius’ hip, he’s done playing. Remus is apparently done playing too, as he shifts to the side and palms at his cock through his jeans. Sirius hisses sharply at the direct contact and breaks the kiss to heave a breath.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Remus mutters, blazing a trail of kisses across Sirius’ shoulder and down over the pale expanse of his chest. He used to balk at the word, but now he takes it in his stride, makes a point of being the prettiest every Saturday night, and look where it got him.

Sirius pushes on Remus’ shoulders to get him to sit up and claws desperately at his shirt. “I need you naked,” he breathes, Christ, almost begs, hips canting up of their own volition to rub his erection against Remus’ thigh.

Remus chuckles again and closes his teeth around Sirius’ nipple, tugging softly - earning a sharp keen of pleasure from him - before he slides off the table, reaching back to grab the neckline of his shirt. Sirius climbs off the table next to him, fingers shaking on the flies of his jeans as he pushes them off and kicks them aside. When he looks back up, Remus is naked too, the soft light of the room playing over his body, muscled in a way Sirius isn’t, in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sirius unceremoniously sinks to his knees to mouth over the sharp jut of Remus’ hipbone, delighting at the trail of black left in his wake, the way Remus’ hands clench in his hair. “Fucking hell, Sirius, you look so good.” Sirius grins up at him, eyes sparkling, and wraps a hand around the base of Remus’ cock, glad he pulled off the fake nails back in the dressing room. Remus moans sharply as Sirius’ tongue darts out of his mouth to lap at the slowly gathering bead of pre-come over his slit. Sirius thrives on praise, and apparently Remus likes to talk, his fingers winding tight around a hunk of Sirius’ hair, muttering obscenities as Sirius sucks him into his mouth. “Fuck, _fuck_ , _Sirius_. Fucking look at you, fucking _look_ at you, that mouth, your lips look so fucking _pretty_ around my dick.”

Sirius moans happily, looking up to watch Remus come apart above him. He tightens a hand in Sirius’ hair and lets him tongue the sensitive underside of his cock a few times before gently but firmly pulling him back. Sirius licks his lips and sits back on his heels, panting as he gives Remus a curious look.

Remus just grins, slow and predatory again and Sirius wants to melt right into the floorboards. “I’m not done with you yet Sirius.” He thumbs along the blurred lines of Sirius’ bottom lip, only messing the lipstick up even further. “I want to come inside you-” he bites his lip and Sirius whimpers softly- “if that’s amenable to you?”

For a moment he marvels at how even Remus’ voice is, how he can still think in full sentences and use words like _amenable_ when all Sirius wants is to climb Remus like a fucking tree and spear himself on his fucking cock right this second. Then he nods his head emphatically and rises to his feet - Remus’ hand still in his hair - and kisses him, hard. In case that wasn’t enough of an answer, he takes Remus’ hand from his hip and slides it around to direct his fingers down over the cleft of his arse to his hole.

He feels Remus’ cock twitch in appreciation against his hip and slides his tongue into Remus’ mouth as Remus presses an exploratory finger over him. Sirius moans wantonly as Remus pulls back. He squeezes the hand in Sirius’ hair as he steps away. “Stay _right_ there, Sirius. I’ll be back in a second.”

Sirius’ voice sounds shaky with unresolved desire and he finds himself clinging to the table. “Bedroom?”

“Oh no, no. I want you here, baby, bent over the fucking table.” Remus grins and steps back towards the bedroom. “So stay right there whilst I get lube, because I don’t have it in me to be slow and careful, not with the way you looked tonight.”

Sirius manages a nod, breath stolen by the prospect of what Remus is describing and the molten-hot way he has with words. Remus is only gone for a second or two, but Sirius has to repeatedly remind himself he wants this to last as long as possible and not to just stroke himself to do _something_ with the anticipation of it all.

When Remus slips back out of the bedroom, still gloriously naked, cock still jutting proudly and smeared in Sirius’ black lipstick, he smiles. With Remus watching, he slowly turns, bending over the table and stepping his legs apart. He sweeps the wave of black ink over one shoulder to smile coyly at Remus, who seems torn between striding over to him and observing him like a fine fucking painting. Only one of those is even slightly fucking acceptable to Sirius so he wiggles his arse enticingly and pushes his hips back.

Remus moans sharply and closes the gap between them in a split-second, pressing against the backs of Sirius’ thighs. Mercifully, he doesn’t waste any time, uncapping the lube and sliding one slick finger down to press gently into him. Sirius moans sharply, arching his back and pushing back insistently. Remus’ other hand presses against his spine to keep him still as he eases one finger into Sirius’ arse, searching for the place that will make Sirius moan so prettily.

Remus doesn’t give him an inch of movement, the hand flat between his shoulder blades to keep him still as he works quickly but thoroughly, all the while issuing half-whispers of praise. “You’re so fucking pretty, Sirius, so fucking good, so good. I can’t wait to have my dick inside that pretty fucking arse.”

By the time he adds a third finger - it’s only been a minute, if that - Sirius isn’t above begging. He arches back desperately and slides onto his forearms to press his forehead against the table. “Fuck, I’m fucking ready, I’m ready, please, _please_ , Remus, Remus, _Remus-”_ He whimpers, pushing back with every fuck of Remus’ fingers until they are gone and his knees are shaking with anticipation.

Remus leans forward, pressing a kiss between Sirius’ shoulder blades as the blunt head of his cock presses against Sirius’ arse. Sirius keens and cants his hips back until Remus pushes into him in one long, delicious stroke. Sirius cries out and turns his head to muffle the sound against his forearm as Remus mouths at the nape of his neck, his body pressed entirely against Sirius’ back. “Alright?”

Sirius nods, already pushing back into Remus’ hips to get him to move, so full and covered by Remus, breath already stolen. “Good, so fucking good, so good. Move, Remus, move.”

Remus shifts - Sirius moans at the sensation inside him - and tugs softly on Sirius’ earlobe. “So long as you don’t hold back. I want to hear you, I know you’ve got a pretty voice already.” Remus straightens up, his hands find Sirius’ hips, holding on tight, thumbs pressing just so into the burgeoning bruises from his corset.

Remus sets a punishing pace, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, his thighs slapping against Sirius’ arse, the table jolting forward with every push, the scrape of the legs on the tiled floor a backdrop for Sirius’ sharp moans and Remus’ words. Sirius thinks, in a second of lucidity, that there really is nothing better, after an evening of owning the stage, taking no shit and being the most badass part of himself, than being fucked into oblivion across a table, especially if the one doing the fucking is Remus bloody Lupin.

“Oh, oh, you’re so fucking good Sirius, so pretty, you take it so well. Fuck, _fuck_ , _fuck-”_ One hand slides possessively up Sirius’ spine to lodge his fingers into the mass of inky hair, gripping tight. Sirius arches his back against the sharp tug in his hair and the deep thrusts that push every last bit of air out of his lungs. He scrabbles one hand back to hold onto Remus’ wrist in his hair, not holding back on his cries and whimpers and moans just like Remus asked, pushing his hips back to meet every thrust hitting his prostate.

It might’ve taken a year but it’s worth it, he thinks savagely, digging his fingers into Remus’ wrist.  He tries with the other hand to reach his own cock, dripping and painfully hard, but that arm is entirely holding him up and he can’t move it without upending them entirely. Remus must realise this as a moment later he slides his hand from Sirius’ hip around to tend to his erection with expert fingers, still slick with lube and stroking him just right.

Sirius moans sharply at the contact and barely has time to choke out a hurried “I’m co- I’m comi-” before he spills into Remus’ hand, whole body convulsing around Remus’ cock, chest pressed into the table, knees shaking, eyes clenching shut against the barrage of pleasure, head swimming. He wonders if one of his yelps sound a little like _Remus_ for a moment.

Remus manages two more table-rattling thrusts before he makes the best noise Sirius has ever heard, a low, almost feral moan that shakes through his body before he’s collapsing on top of Sirius, chest pressed against his back. Sirius is still somewhere along the slow, sweet arcing descent of his orgasm, thighs shuddering, glad for the table to take their weight, panting hard and moaning with every breath. Remus feels heavy and warm against him, moaning into the nape of his neck, nose buried in Sirius’ hair. When his vision swims back into focus, Sirius turns his head a little to see Remus looking deliciously fevered, eyes bright, curls sweat-damp, Sirius’ lipstick smeared all over the bottom half of his face, and imagines he looks something similar.

Remus tenderly brushes Sirius’ hair out of the way to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. “A good enough prize for you, Mr Black?”


End file.
